About gastronomy. Japan is known as the land of ramen or noodles. For some years now I have been interested in a ramen place that deserves a word from Shakespeare. Aunts and uncles have grown up in the old ramen castle. Today I tell him this ramen place and we test it. As always a dozen or so customers are waiting outside and playing with smartphones. I join them and start to sharpen my teeth. Fifteen minutes in and a sweet-hearted girl comes running out and invites me in. And where is the menu?
I see my neighbour on my right pulling out a blue table and putting it on the table. Aaah, I think, there must be some kind of coloured table machine. Right there. I sneak a peek and see what will make me happy today. The choice is wide. A normal portion or a small one. You can also choose an extra egg. That’s it. Ok, I pull out my money and say I’m going to be mediocre – I’m going to have the normal portion. I sit back in my chair and wait to see what happens next. My neighbour on the right is ordering an egg , garlic and vegetable spicy. Neighbour on the left – garlic. The other one on the left has the same. The girl gives me a questioning look. Girl sees that she may not be able to get along with this foreign man, so I make her a favour and ask only for a garlic.
No further culinary questions. A bowl of ramen comes on the table. Oooh, the pig is just boiling over. What’s the noodles for if the pigs are floating around for half a kilo. The vegetables are sprouted soya beans. While I’m admiring my bowl my neighbour on the left is furiously sizzling. He’s scooping up that noodle drowned in grease. The noodles are rolling from side to side, the grease splashing on someone’s shirt on the table. Aha, I see he has a raw egg still in the bowl. My neighbour likes to flavour his pasta with a sweet. Okay.
I’m joining in the chorus of chowder too. It’s not ten minutes later and my neighbours are already packed. The restaurant business is running well. One standard portion for about eight euros, eight customers, fifteen minutes, about four hundred euros an hour. That means that some three or four thousand a day. The staff consists of a girl – she speaks in such a pleasant voice, but so sternly, I think she would be perfect in a conclave. And of course the master, Mr Noodle. This one doesn’t say a word. And what can I say to him, on Monday is noodles, Tuesday is noodles, Wednesday is noodles, Thursday is noodles, and so on, and Sunday is noodles too. I see half a metre of pork piled up in the kitchen at the master’s foot.
While I’m calculating everything, the girl will say in a pleasant voice – so when will you finish eating, sir? I squint my eye slowly slowly lift my head off the bowl scoop up the noodle that is halfway stuck in the bowl and say – how long do you have to finish, do you have a time limit. The girl leaves angry without saying anything. The customer is a sacred thing in Japan. I grab a pork neck, tuck it in, wipe the grease off the table with my right hand and a towel and slowly walk out. It was deliciously.
And if you want to know about the pinnacle of Japanese gastronomy a restaurant that has been filmed 18 times, check out this article.
